


For the Sake of Old Times

by merentha13



Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:15:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22056889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merentha13/pseuds/merentha13
Summary: A chance encounter...
Relationships: William Bodie/Ray Doyle
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	For the Sake of Old Times

_Should Old Acquaintance be forgot,  
and never thought upon;  
The flames of Love extinguished,  
and fully past and gone:  
Is thy sweet Heart now grown so cold,  
that loving Breast of thine;  
That thou canst never once reflect  
On old long syne. _ \- James Watson 1711

It was New Year’s Eve and it had been raining buckets for the past several hours. The streets were dotted with puddles and a mis-step allowed one to soak through the leather of Doyle’s boots. He mumbled his displeasure and wiped the cold wetness from dripping hair while he huddled deeper into his jacket. The weatherman had promised snow for the evening, and he had been looking forward to it. The fact that the temperature wasn’t cooperating was just another disappointment to add to Doyle’s day.

Despite the wet and windy conditions the high street was busy – well dressed couples walked hand in hand on their way to a fancy dinner, shoppers searched for last minute items for their New Year’s celebrations, and noisy groups hurried to meet friends at their locals.

He wondered what he was doing out in the crowds. Usually on New Year’s Eve he tucked himself away with a book and a bottle of malt scotch. Well, that had been the usual for the past three years – old acquaintances best forgot and all that. ‘Never brought to mind’ sounded like a great idea for tonight. But something had called to him this year and he’d ventured out.

Catching his reflection in shop windows he saw a man he no longer recognized. The lines surrounding his eyes could no longer be attributed to laughter, but to the pain of a shattered leg. The grey threaded through his hair told a story all of its own. He wondered – no, not tonight.

Shaking off errant thoughts and the rain on his shoulders, Doyle limped into an off-license. His cane slipped a bit on the wet lino and he cursed the three year old bullet wound that had healed badly, leaving him unable to walk without a stick. A hand reached out to steady him. He scowled at the man with his eyes narrowed to warn him off. With a sharp gasp, both of them took a step back. Eyes that hadn’t met for three years stared at each other in shocked surprise.

“Doyle?” The voice broke on a struggle for air.

“C’mon, get out of the way!” A shopper pushed past them complaining, “it’s soddin’ raining and you’re blocking the door.”

“Happy New Year to you too, mate.” Bodie’s familiar clipped mockery called after the stranger.

“It is you,” Bodie pulled Doyle to the side and continued to gape at him.

“Hallo, Bodie,” Doyle managed, before running out of words. He felt heat rise on his face as an awkward silence settled heavily over them both. He hadn’t seen Bodie for three years now, not since the Henderson debacle and its bad Intel, its worse timing, its disastrous ending and heartbreaking results. Harsh words and accusations had been hurled without thought, blame doled out without proof, actions taken with no consideration of the consequences –a partnership of eight years dissolved in the aftermath. And it had surprised him how much it hurt when Bodie had left.

They stood staring at each other for what felt, to Doyle, like hours.

Bodie looked down at his boots and shook his head. “Pair of berks, we are, standing here gobsmacked.”

He looked up at Doyle.

Doyle lips twitched and he nodded in agreement.

“Buy you a pint, Ray?”

“For old time’s sake?” Doyle’s voice was hesitant.

“A cup of kindness, for noble deeds remembered.” Bodie looked hopeful.

“Still quoting poets, eh?”

“Tis the season,” Bodie replied. “Join me, Ray.”

“Why not?” The night suddenly didn’t seem so bleak.

They left the off-license and made their way to a pub around the corner. Bodie pointed to a table and indicated he’d get the first round.

Doyle watched as Bodie chatted up the barmaid, and walked toward the table carrying two pints and a bag of crisps. Some things never changed, Doyle thought to himself, before remembering just how much had.

Bodie placed the pints on the table and sat down on the bench next to Doyle, their backs to the wall. Doyle felt his throat tighten a bit at the familiarity of it all. Bodie raised his glass and smiled at Doyle. “Happy New Year, Ray.”

Ray raised his glass and took a deep drink.

“So,” Bodie began, seemingly attempting to lift the uncomfortable silence by trying to start a conversation. “I hear your still with the mob, in line to take over for Cowley.”

Doyle nodded. “And you’re with Interpol, raising hell across Europe.” He lightly tapped two fingers to the side of his nose. “I have sources as well.”

Bodie cleared his throat. “I’m guessing that being off the streets,” he tapped on the top of Doyle’s cane, “gives you the chance of having that family you always wanted.”

Doyle sputtered and choked on his drink.

“Having a stroke, mate?” Bodie patted at Doyle until he could breathe again. The hand felt warm where Bodie rested it against his back.

“No one special then?” Bodie asked.

“No one who stayed.” Doyle winced at the accusation he could hear in his words. He softened his voice. “Actually, mate, you hold that record. Longest relationship I’ve had. Eight years. Funny, yeah?” He stood up quickly and walked to the door. Bodie followed him out.

“Ray-”

He looked into eyes as deep and blue as he remembered and expected to find pity. But what he saw was pain, or maybe fear? And he realised then that nothing else mattered; none of the past hurts, slights, accusations, or disagreements were important any longer. All that mattered was that Bodie was here, standing next him after sharing a pint on New Year’s Eve.

As the chimes of Big Ben and the flash and bang of fireworks heralded the start of a new year, he felt a soft wetness on his cheek. Turning his face to the sky he saw that the rain had indeed turned to snow. Bodie reached out and gently tussled the fresh fallen flakes from Doyle’s hair. Doyle wiped at the wetness that clung to his eyelashes, shaking his head. They shared a warm smile.

It was a New Year, with a new chance for a new beginning, and maybe they’d get it right this time.

***

_And there's a hand, my trusty friend!  
And give us a hand of yours!  
And we'll take a deep draught of good-will  
For long, long ago._  
-Robert Burns - 1788 

[](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/merentha13/21454005/222728/222728_original.jpg)  



End file.
